Nothing to Worry About (Promise)
by and so they said always
Summary: "Please tell me you did not sleep in the break room again." Castle is trying to reconfigure Beckett's priorities so that things like "sleeping" and "eating" are at the top, but Beckett's having none of it as the anniversary of her mother's death draws nearer. Told from alternating Castle/Beckett perspectives, I present a somewhat fluffy and very cute little chapter fic.
1. Chapter 1 - All-Nighter Again Again

**Hi guys,  
So this one is set in late Season 3 (Gina and Castle are long broken up), but I'm working with the idea that Beckett never said that she and Josh "have a chance", and that she's tired of him.  
It started out as a one-shot but became a chapter fic, as fanfiction is wont to do.  
It was written from the quote prompt, "Please tell me you did not sleep in the break room again."**

**PS: I originally wrote this chapter in past tense and then changed it to present, so there are probably a couple of errors I didn't conjugate properly. Apologies, casketeers.**

**- M**

* * *

**Nothing To Worry About (promise) ****– ****chapter 1  
****a caskett fanfiction**

The burn the open blinds causes her eyes makes Beckett certain an attempt is being made to literally smoke out new theories from her. She doesn't realise it is nearly six am until Karpowski cheerfully arrives, bringing with her large quantities of unwanted sunlight that cause the young detective to hiss like a perturbed cat. However, there is no one in the immediate vicinity on whom to unleash her newly-awakened wrath, and it vaguely registers in the back of her mind that it would be incredibly petty of her to chase Karpowski to the break room and get mad at her. Especially for something so innocent as _opening blinds. _

Beckett digs her palms into her eyes, and just for a moment, there is nothing. Silence. There has been no new body drop, and Jimmy McHannigan's case is stale by all accounts. Everyone had been sent home over nine hours ago, and without a call, they won't show up for a while yet.  
The advantage of being the one that gets to tell everyone else to shut up and get going back to their loved ones and their beds is that there is no irritating, lingering presence to try and make her to take responsible action and do the same.

Well, actually, there is. This unstoppable force has a name, too.

But, luckily, she had called Little Castle ages ago and asked her to force her father to go home and stop pestering Beckett to do things like, "Eat something" and "Go to sleep".  
The worst Ryan and Esposito ever do is vaguely allude or half-heartedly hint that she ought to take better care of herself, but even they had learned after merely several weeks around her to leave her to her own devices.

Castle, it seems, is either stupid, has no survival instincts, or is an incredibly slow learner.

Little bright spots begin to crop up under her eyelids and dance around merrily, tiny stars growing to super novae, living and fading in the lifespan of a second.  
Beckett sighs.  
She does a lot of sighing, she notes absently. A few of the things she sighs about most are Castle, cases, Castle, the economy, memories of her mother, and Castle. If asked (and asking would rank in the Top 10 Worst Ideas of All Time) she would insist that all were sighs of exasperation or sorrow. None were of longing. Never that.  
She folds into her desk chair, a sudden wave of dizziness crashing over her that she is unable to suppress. Taking deep breaths, she pulls her now buzzing phone out of her jacket pocket.

It's Josh.

Without even a moment of hesitation, she taps End Call. She smiles absently, a vague recollection of her mother flashing before her eyes: "You do always like to ignore little problems in the hope they will go away, Katie. It's a terrible habit, you know."  
Beckett starts. Is that what Josh has become? A 'little problem'? A few months ago, Castle had done to Gina exactly what she is doing to her boyfriend now, she remembers.

She hums unhappily and scrunches her nose. Come to think of it, she does kind of wish wish Josh would just… go away. Deem her a lost cause. Too much trouble. Let her go. A few more days of ignoring him and she knows he probably will.  
If it had been Castle, she reflects idly, it would take more than a few days to get him to give up on her. Years, maybe. Not that she'd ever shut Castle out like this - never ignore him entirely.

Beckett jolts. She needs to shut down thoughts like that. They seem harmless at first, but they nearly always lead to accidental touches, words said that are meant but not supposed to be heard.

It occurs to her that she is wearing the same clothes as yesterday, and that even if no one else does, Castle will notice. She convinces herself that it is because she knows of the novelist in him that makes her so sure of this, and not the way he stares at her as if he were documenting every little thing about her (as if he thought she was beautiful).

She has a spare set of clothes stashed in her locker up at the training room. With a quick shower and a change of clothes, no one will ever know she's spent the whole night in front of the murder board. If they did, Montgomery would send her home. She purses her lips in a small gesture of displeasure.  
The pictures and words on the board begin to blur together, creating a swirling pool of murder and mystery.  
God, she is tired. She never could get Castle's stupid espresso machine to work, and her caffeine levels are now getting horrifically low. Maybe she could duck around the corner and buy a coffee…

She groans. What she actually wants is to flop into bed. She can see it now, in her mind's eye, sliding under the covers, the other warm form on the mattress curling around her, holding her close. She frowns. Josh, she wonders? No. The presence is deeper, more familiar, and accompanied by a scent she's known for years…

She shuts off the fantasy immediately on recognising her companion. _Castle_. She can't have thoughts like this, not when she is running low on sleep and her inhibitions are down, leaving her liable to say things she shouldn't. Things she'd regret later. Honest things.  
Too honest to be safe.

* * *

The first thing he registers is how quiet the bullpen is beyond the grinding of the elevator doors. He steps out onto the sleekly polished floor, adorned with the scratches made by the heels of protesting suspect's shoes as they were dragged to the interrogation booth. Castle glances at his watch – six thirty. Ok, so most people probably aren't in yet, but Ryan and Espo had texted that they were going to take another run up at the McHannigan case, and that if he wanted, he could come. He was under strict instructions, however, to not mention this to Beckett, as the boys had speculated (undoubtedly correctly, he thinks, worry nipping at his heels) that she'd probably stayed here late into the night, and could use some extra sleep. She'd kill them later, of course, but an angry Beckett on seven hours' sleep is a significant improvement on a probably emotionally and physically unstable Beckett running on three or four hours.

He shudders, wishing he could think of a way to persuade her to look after herself. He figures that "…because I love you. So much," isn't a valid reason in her books.

Well, he supposes, what he is really looking for is a word that means some feeling, some emotion that is so much bigger than love - love to the power of a million. But he doesn't have a name for what he feels. Only a word that brings it all right to the forefront of his mind (not that it is ever far away): Kate.

He spots Ryan further the up the hall and is about to call out a greeting when a solid shape steps in front of him, blocking his view. Esposito and his accompanying frown. "Hush, bro. Some if us," - he unceremoniously jerks his head back towards the desks - "are trying to sleep." He then disappears into the break room. Curious, Castle ducks out of the hall and towards the region Espo was gesturing to.

He catches sight of Beckett slumped low in her chair, her eyes closed in a peaceful sleep. Castle cannot control his smile at the sight of her. He takes the opportunity to grin properly, because he knows, if she were she awake, she'd glare at him for so much as smirking. She looks much calmer, and much younger. The hard lines that tell of her misfortunes and traumas fade away.

Something burning rushes through his veins, as if his red blood cells were flaring like tiny comets. He so badly wishes he could protect her, keep her face as passive and unburdened as this forever.

And then the illusion is broken, the peacefulness is gone. Beckett's eyes shift like whirling records under her eyelids, a frown partly of horror and partly of sadness darkening her features. Her fists clench and she goes rigid. He wants desperately to tug her into his arms, into his lap, and hold her, rocking her backwards and forwards, kissing her forehead until the dreams stop.

But he can't.

Because he knows he is selfish, and if he were to hold her that way for one moment, he would want to hold her that way forever.

* * *

A gentle hand brushes across her shoulder, her cheek. She almost leans into the warm touch, wanting so badly for it to linger. But awareness rears its head like an ugly dragon, and she remembers where she is. She blinks away her sleep, and manages to focus on the sharp blue eyes gazing back at hers. She loves the way they are riddled with fractures, fissures of lighter and darker shades that radiate out from the epicentre that is his pupil. Her hand almost reaches up to brush the hair out of his eyes.

Almost.

She gets a hold of her self-control at the last moment though. Almost loses it again, however, at the look in those eyes. The look that says, _if you would let me, I would sit with you and hold your hand until we are old._

She hopes he can't see the answer in her eyes. The way she wants to say _yes_ over and over again.

"Castle?" she mutters, her voice laced with sleep and confusion like drink spiked with cyanide.

"Surprise, Beckett," he murmurs back, quiet, but not half-hearted. Never half-hearted. Not to her. She swallows. "Sorry to wake you up, but you looked like you were having a nightmare."  
She probably was, but she doesn't remember. Her heart is still racing, though. This is definitely from the forgotten horrors of the dream, and not his tantalisingly close proximity. Definitely.

"What's the time?" she presses, rubbing her eyes with her fist. She sees the smile brighten in his eyes as he gazes at her. Like everything she does is worth watching. It's not, of course. But maybe it is to him.

"Half past six."

She breathes out. She could only have been asleep a quarter of an hour tops. Beckett realises Castle is talking, but the words come as static to her ears as she shakes off the tendrils of sleep as a dog shakes off clingy water droplets.

"Hm, what?"

His lips quirk. "I said, sleepy head, '_you slept in the break room'_. You did, didn't you? On the couch."

"I didn't," she replies. And she's not lying. She didn't sleep in the break room. She didn't sleep at all.

"Please, Ka- Beckett," he corrects himself quickly. "You're wearing the exact same clothes as yesterday, and you look so tired I could knock you over with less effort than a house of cards. So you didn't go home, and had a terrible night's sleep. By a process of elimination, my detecting skills tell me you crashed on the couch."

"Then you've learned nothing in three years," she shoots back, aiming for snarky, but ending up having to stifle a yawn.

Suddenly, understanding dawns on his face, a tidal wave of comprehension rushing over the beach of ignorance.

"Please tell me you slept," he says, almost begging.

She nods.

"Other than a few minutes just then."

She decides evasion is the best way to escape that one. Beckett stands up quickly, intending to flee in the footsteps of the boys and go talk one of them into making her a coffee. But she sways where she stands. This is the third night in a row she's had under an hour's sleep, and without any caffeine, it's starting to get to her.

Castle's arms are immediately at her waist to steady her. Just for a moment, she allows herself the indulgence of sinking into the warm of his fingers, the gentleness yet strength behind his hold. It seems he fears she will shatter like china, yet at the same time anticipates her tugging away from him. He acts as if all his moments with her are precious and fleeting. This thought does peculiar things to the rhythm of her heart.

"Kate, when was the last time you slept? Properly, I mean? Not ten minutes here and half an hour there?" he seems to be trying to fend off the oncoming rush of concern from his voice.

She tries to think back. "Um... It's, what... Friday, now? So, around - Sunday night, maybe? Monday?"

"Kate, it's not Friday. It's Saturday today."  
She decides to change tack, top speed.

"Well, don't worry. I actually slept loads in my chair. Like four hours. Five, even. I was good."

"Liar," Karpowski mutters as she walks by clutching a file. The female cop turns to Castle. "She was awake when I got here at six."

Beckett glares at her.

Karpowski shrugs. "For your own good, Becks."

Beckett doesn't look at Castle's face. She doesn't know what she'd see. But she knows that sooner or later she'll be facing his pleas that she take care of herself. She doesn't want to hear.

"Have to go see Lanie," she murmurs, facing away from him, grabbing her jacket. "See if Espo and Ryan dug up anything new."

She flits away, stumbling down the corridor into the elevator before he can stop her.

Because she knows, if she touches her again like he did before, she will melt into him, into that look, and give up on closing the floodgates on whatever it is they have.

One more touch, and she would surrender. Let him hold her. Hold him back.

* * *

**That's all, chaps.**

**I'll update soon. Please review if you liked it (and especially if you didn't). I accept prompts and criticism and everything, so knock yourself out.**

**- M**

**PS If you liked this fic, please check out my other one that I just posted: _Three Small Facts (A Love Story). _More Caskett, of course.**


	2. Chapter 2 - Something of a Side Effect

**Hi guys,  
Just a short chapter tonight. Sorry. But, hey, even a small update is better than no update at all. I might post some more a bit later, depending on how much longer I can evade homework and study.**

**If you still have a hunger for more Caskett fic after reading this chapter, please check out my other Caskett story, ****_Three Small Facts. _****It's a long fic I'll be writing to get me (and anyone who reads it) through the hiatus. I'm having a lot of fun writing it, and posted 3 chapters today. I'd really appreciate it.**

**Anyway, I hope you like this chapter. It's a bit heavier, but it's the fall before the fly: next chapter should be fluffier (sneak peak: Castle will refuse to leave Beckett's apartment until she goes to sleep), but I needed to get this out of the way first.**

**Please read and review.**

* * *

**Nothing To Worry About (promise) ****– ****chapter 2  
****a caskett fanfiction**

He knocks on the door of the morgue, his peace offering of a sandwich clutched tightly in his hand. Beckett returned from her visit here over an hour ago, and informed them that they were still waiting for the tox-screen results. Then she stared blankly at the white board for a while, her eyes covered in a dull film of incomprehension from exhaustion.

The door opens, and he is greeted by Lanie's sceptical eyebrow.

"What's new, Writer Boy?" her tone is not harsh, however, but he still holds the sandwich bag out in front of him like a talisman when she steps aside to let him into her lab.

He decides a direct approach is best. "Do you know what's up with Beckett at the moment, Lanie? Why she's not sleeping, not eating, I mean."

Lanie shrugs, sadness gracing her features. "Castle, she has episodes like this, from time to time. A few days or weeks where she loses sight of herself and what she needs, and she throws herself into work to stave off depression. Tends to happen when she's feeling alone. She used to be like this a lot more, you know. I used to worry that she'd work herself so hard that she's end up laid out on my table. But then someone would step in, someone like Royce or Montgomery, and blackmail her with forced leave until she got herself back of track. It's backlash from her mother's murder. Sometimes it comes back in waves."

His stomach clenches. "How can I help her? Please?"

Her eyes soften. "Just make sure she's not alone. Often, that's the best you can do for Kate. She needs saving, I think, but doesn't want to be saved."

He nods. "Whatever she needs, I'll do it."

"I know," is Lanie's response. "You know, Castle? I'm proud of you. For sticking with her all these years, through everything. It would have been easier to walk away."

He almost laughs. "As if I could ever walk away. As if one smile from her didn't cancel out every horrible murder I've ever been to, every sad or bad moment. As if-" he halts, not wanting to say too much.

"It's ok, Castle. We all know. It's not exactly a well-kept secret of yours that you were half way to being completely in love with her by the end of your first case together."  
Castle offers her a half-smile, and doesn't bother to offer her his correction: more than halfway in love, he should think. At least five eighths.

His phone rings. It's Beckett. He offers Lanie a subdued farewell and ducks out into the hall to answer his phone.  
"What's up?" he asks.  
"The cousin's alibi just fell apart. We're going to pick him up," she says, excitement and tiredness blurring the lines of her voice.  
"Be right there," he responds. Like hell is he going to let Beckett go anywhere unattended, not in her condition.  
He meets her at her car, waiting at the passenger's side.  
Beckett hesitates for a moment. "Actually, can you drive? I want to be ready to get out at any moment if he's already trying to run."  
It's a poor excuse, and they both know it. But it comforts Castle that she's at least starting to realise that if she carries on the way she is, she'll put them both at risk.  
At that thought, he freezes.  
Beckett has never acted like this before. She often comes to work after an all-nighter and drives around and chases suspects just the same as usual. So for her to finally concede she's not up to it… how many sleepless nights and skipped meals are they talking here?  
Renewed worry washes over him like a tidal wave.  
As he slides in behind the wheel, he throws caution to the wind. Castle reaches over and takes Beckett's hand for just a moment. Holds it tight. Strengthens his resolve.  
Whatever is going on with her, if he can't fix it, he will help her through it.  
Partners, right?  
He told her always, didn't he? Not matter what. _  
Always. _He meant it.

* * *

**There. I know it's not fluffy yet, but it will be. Oh, boy, will it be.**

**All right. I'll update soon. Don't forget to check out my other fanfic.**

**x. EM**


	3. Chapter 3 - Cutting Edge

**Hi everyone, **

**Here's a new chapter for you all. I've been really surprised at how quickly this story has got a response, and I really want to thank everyone who has reviewed. I don't think a lot of you realise how nice that is, but it's really awesome to be able to see what you guys think.**

**Anyway, it transpires I've slightly underestimated some of my story, and this chapter is also a little heavier. But I think I needed it to segue into the fluff, which I absolutely swear is coming next chapter (yes, I know I promised it this chapter, but I should have it up later today anyway)**

**Hope you enjoy this chapter, there's a little more action in it. **

* * *

**Nothing To Worry About (promise) ****– ****chapter 3  
****a caskett fanfiction**

Ryan and Esposito call them halfway through the car trip to the cousin's house.  
Beckett answers, leaving Castle to strain his ears to try and catch even a broken fragment of the conversation.  
"Change lanes, and take the second street to the left," Beckett instructs, her face changing. "Espo's got reports of our guy heading up to Central Park."  
Castle nods. Swerves the steering wheel. Accelerates. Misses the thrill of the chase, because instead of the heart racing adrenaline that normally accompanies a suspect takedown, all he has is hope. Hope that Ryan and Esposito get there first. Hope that Beckett doesn't do something stupid.  
He glances up into his rear view mirror, nearly missing the subtle alteration in expression on Beckett's face as she hangs up.  
"He's got a machete, Castle," she tells him. "Nothing says _I'm guilty _like running into Central Park with a seventeen inch knife."  
Castle swallows. "This was the cousin, right? The ex-wrestler cousin?"  
"Yep. Abraham Janfeld. With a knife."  
"Oh, boy," Castle mutters in faux excitement, but floors it anyway. As he does so, he reorganises some of his new priorities:

_1. Get Beckett out of this unharmed (i.e. no knifing)  
2. Get Beckett back on track_

Admittedly, the latter point is a little too broad and will require being broken up into many smaller steps. But, right now, step one is numero uno, and he has to make sure he carries it out. No matter what.

It happens in slow motion for Beckett.  
Her focus has been fractured for days now, and she'd been concentrating on the tackle, not where Janfeld's right hand had been. She'd knocked him down all right, with a nice, smooth side tackle that had sent him sprawling. She'd had the momentum and trajectory very nearly perfect to take out her bigger foe (she's had better days, of course, but she can't complain).  
And when she'd cuffed the cousin, she'd looked around.  
Which had led to where she is now. Watching the blood drain out of her partner's arm.  
It feels as if there are waves crashing around her head, in her ears and eyes. Thick and foamy, full of mistakes and broken promises. She reaches out, touches him, then pulls back, for fear of causing him more pain.  
"I'm all right, Beckett," Castle says gently, though his right forearm is gripped firmly by his left hand in an attempt to staunch the blood flow. "It's just a scratch, ok? He nicked me when you knocked him down. Hey, look at me. I'm fine. You're fine. We got him."  
The cut is deeper than a scratch - that much is evident from the quantity of blood. But how much deeper? He won't let her see. He's covering it, keeping her from looking. From knowing.  
If she'd been more alert, maybe Janfeld would never have been able to flail about. Never been able to let the cool steel of his knife find Castle's skin. And she so wants not be a risk to him. If only she could get some sleep, if she could bring herself to find food anything other than sawdust.  
Beckett feels dizzy. Sick. She is one of those place settings a magician has pulled the tablecloth out from under. It was a cut today, for Castle. But what if it's a stab next time? A bullet? Poison?  
He's watched horrible things happen to her, and has had to stand back and hope that she would be okay.  
And yes, Kate Beckett can survive a lot of pain. But she could never survive something like that, something like a very nearly ending, happening to him.  
"Beckett? _Kate. _Hey. Come on, back to me," Castle murmurs. He's got one knee on the suspect's back, an extra precaution to prevent him fleeing. That's Beckett's job, but she must have staggered away at some point. Horrified by the blood.  
She can hear sirens. Police sirens. Everything will be okay. Castle will be okay. She'll be okay.  
Right?

The ambulance shows up not long after the boys. Castle sits in the back of the paramedic's van as Esposito reads the killer his rights.  
"No heavy lifting for a week or two, and try to avoid any intense physical activity. You want to give this a chance to start healing before your blood starts racing too much," says the friendly doctor in the green-black uniform.  
Well, if that's what he's avoiding, then the paramedic should have also prescribed some time away from Beckett.  
"Thanks," he offers, throwing back the two painkillers the medic hands him.  
He finds Beckett leaning up against the side of the ambulance, waiting for him to come out. "Hey there," he greets, a small grin magnetising into existence. The kind of smile that is inevitable when in close proximity to her.  
She's glaring at the ground, a strange expression in her eyes. As if the gravity has been turned off for no one but her, and she's floating around in space alone.  
He reaches out and takes her hand. It's a risk, but one he's willing to take if it brings her back to Earth.  
Beckett starts. Maybe she hadn't heard his greeting.  
She spies the bandage on his arm. "Did you need stitches?" she asks in a hollow, remote kind of tone.  
He shakes his head. "Nope."  
"Liar."  
"Ok, fine, like one or two, but that doesn't really count," he concedes.  
Beckett doubles over, only slightly, as if wracked by a sudden wave of pain. He grabs her shoulders, steadying her. Feels her relax a fraction under his fingers.  
"I'm so sorry, Castle… I should've… I'm supposed to…"  
He tugs her towards him in a one-armed hug, wanting to offer comfort but compromising so as not to scare her away. "You were fine. You did everything right," he assures her.  
She jerks away from him (he misses her instantly). "No, I didn't," Beckett hisses, anger at herself and at him written all over her face. "I wasn't awake. I wasn't thinking properly. We should have waited for back up."  
"He would've got away if we'd waited. You know that."  
"I don't _care, _Castle. There's hundreds of murderers out there, and thousands of opportunities to catch them. But it only takes one of them once to get you, Castle. There's only one you. And I'm – we're partners, Castle. That means I'm supposed to have your back, Castle, always. But I messed up. I'm messed up."  
His heart drops. He wishes more than anything he could let her look at herself the way he does. Broken, yes. But beautiful. "You're not messed up. You're just tired, and -"  
"But I don't _want _to be," she mutters. "I want to sleep. I do. I'm not being reckless and stupid and staying up all night in front of the murder board for kicks. Or because I'm obsessed. I just… every time I try, I either end up staring at the ceiling for hours until dawn, or have nightmares so bad I'm exhausted from being scared anyway," she says in a rush. Then her face tightens. She looks as if she thinks she's said too much. He wants her to understand that she can never say 'too much' to him. Whatever she lets him know is a gift, whether it is a good thing or a bad thing. "But, never mind. You're the one we've got to look after now." Beckett must see the look on his face. She rolls her eyes. "I'm fine, Castle, really," she murmurs, starting to turn away towards her car. "It's nothing to worry about, I promise."

* * *

**There you go.**

**Hope you liked it. Please review - it only takes a few seconds, but it really makes my day. Don't forget to send in any prompts as to what you'd like to see happen later on in the story.**

**If you're in the mood for some more Caskett, please check out my other fic, ****_Three Small Facts _****(you'll be able to find it on my page)**

**x. EM**


	4. Chapter 4 - Scout's Honour

**Hi guys,**

**Here is a new chapter, as promised. It's not as fluffy as I initially expected. Perhaps this never will be a ****_very _****fluffy fic. Chapter 5 should be a lil' bit cuter though (I'll be sure to include some hugging and so on).**

**Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

**Nothing To Worry About (Promise) ****– ****chapter 4  
****a caskett fanfiction**

After a five minute debate in which Castle employs nearly every persuasive technique he has ever learned (every non-physical, Beckett-appropriate one, anyway), he wins the right to drive again, assuring Kate that the painkillers he took were not of the variety that addles the mind.  
"All right," she gives in. "Just… make sure we get back to the Precinct top speed, okay? I have a lot of paperwork that needs finishing."  
He mock salutes her. "Of course. I have to make a call real quick first, though, okay?"  
She twists her mouth, but nods in acceptance, sliding into the passenger side door. It's kind of strange, he reflects, to see her get into his side of the car.  
Once he's heard the door slam and has walked a little out of her earshot, he tugs his phone out of his pocket and taps one of the recently-used contacts: _Roy Montgomery._  
After a brief discussion in which the captain readily (and with some relief) agrees to Castle's proposition, the novelist hangs up, and slides in behind the wheel of Beckett's Crown Vic. He doubts it's legal for a civilian to drive a cop car, but since he's with the cops, who is going to stop them?  
A few minutes pass in silence, and eventually Beckett closes her eyes, though a frown remains settled on her face. She begins to breathe evenly, and he wonders for a moment if she has perhaps fallen asleep. This hope is shattered, however, when she sighs in frustration, and starts to fidget continually. In time, though, she settles down again.  
He calms. If her eyes are closed, that's all the better for his plan. She won't realise where they're going until it's far too late for her to stop him.  
She looks so beautiful with the sun dappled across her cheekbones, the shadows of the buildings creating a flicker over her face as if she were a figure in an old, choppy movie. He has to remind himself sternly to keep his eyes on the road (he's too used to being able to watch her as they drive).  
He remembers the first time he drove Alexis home from the hospital. This feels kind of like that – knowing he is carrying the most precious of cargo, and caught between desperately wanting to keep said cargo safe and almost _needing_ to look at it to ensure it is still there.  
By the time they pull up outside her apartment building, Kate is, as predicted by the laws of probability, _still there_.  
He glances over at her. If she'd been asleep, he would have just circled the block for as long as possible before refuelling the Vic. But, in spite of her closed eyelids, he knows she is wide awake, exhausted but determined to keep going.  
Castle is used to trying to step in and then backing down when she gets angry, because he's too scared of losing her to push. But now, he's scared she's going to lose _herself,_ and that's enough to stop him caring about where he ends up.  
Even if that 'where' is alone.

She's feeling quite peaceful, in an odd sort of way.  
Well, Beckett reflects, she's still wired and exhausted, but those notions seem a long way away, as if they were carried out by the tide. Her mind is still clouded with residual fear over seeing Castle's blood leaving him, and images of his injury burn in her mind. But she can feel the heat of him next to her, calm and safe and alive, and even those horrors begin fade.  
His large, warm hand gently shakes her shoulder, and she opens her eyes.  
Castle's hovering over her, and she is momentarily struck by the strong desire to kiss him, to kiss him until the worry and sadness leave his eyes. _Momentarily _is a slightly ridiculous word for this, she knows – it makes it sound as if she does not turn it over and over in her mind at least ten times a day. Which she shouldn't. Because she has a boyfriend. Right.  
A boyfriend whom she hasn't seen in three weeks. A boyfriend whom she doesn't like one hundredth as much as the man sitting next to her.  
Beckett sighs. She rolls her neck and sits up straighter, glancing around. "Castle," she begins, "this isn't the Precinct -"  
"I know," he responds, his face set. "It's your apartment. This is Montgomery-Approved, by the way. He says you need to get off work for a few hours. We're going to go upstairs and I'm going to make you eat something and then I'm going to sit on your couch until you give it up and go to sleep. I promise I won't stay any longer, Beckett. Just until you're asleep."  
It almost scares her how close the words _can you stay with me until I wake up again _were to slipping out. Too honest. Too true.  
But she knows that if she starts letting out little things she wants, like for him to sit beside her, it will open the floodgates for the bigger things, like kissing him. Like letting him love her and loving him back.  
Those kinds of wants used to terrify her a year or two ago. Now they just sadden Katherine Beckett because they remind her how she can't have them. Because she is broken. Damaged beyond repair.  
So instead of saying all the things she wants to say, she tells him, "Okay."  
The surprise on his face is fleeting, but she sees it. It disappears after half a heartbeat, but to her, it may as well have been burned onto his skin.  
He expected her to push him away. To shut him out.  
She takes a breath, and makes a resolution. Perhaps it is a bad decision, but she knows it is the only way to fix this, to fix all of it.  
_Let him in. Let him know you want to let him in._

They walk up to her apartment in silence. Castle can't believe his luck at how little resistance his plan has met so far. He suspects it will come later, however – clearly, she's just too tired for what he'd asked for to sink in.  
There is a faint click as she unlocks her front door, opening it wide to allow him to follow her inside.  
He loves her apartment. The whole place speaks of Beckett. Not in a loud, obvious way, but it just seems to whisper little things. Things you wouldn't notice unless you knew her very well (like he does). In the same way he knows exactly what it means if she bites her thumbnail and taps her left foot, he recognises the indent of the red cushion on the couch that she only tends to lean on when they're talking about her mother's case (he suspects it once belonged to Johanna Beckett, or was perhaps a gift from her, many years ago).  
As Beckett goes to her kitchen to get them some water (_"You shouldn't get dehydrated after you've lost blood, Castle,"_), he tugs out his phone and orders them some Chinese from her favourite shop.  
While the wait for it to arrive, they sit on her couch, talking. Sometimes about real, important things, and sometimes about redundant, meaningless things. He wishes he could spend forever talking with her. Well, he supposes, there are probably some other activities he wouldn't mind engaging in… It doesn't really surprise him, though, when the realisation comes that just talking actually would be enough.

She stares apprehensively at the take out box in her hand, one with the familiar red dragon entwined around several symbols she recognises but does not understand from her favourite Chinese place. It's funny – it smells great, but she's not exactly hungry. Beckett hasn't really been hungry for a while now. Maybe she'll be able to just casually set the noodles down on the coffee table and Castle won't notice…  
He's already glaring at her, as if they have some telepathic connection that enables him to read her mind. At times, she nearly believes they _do _have that.  
"Not a chance, Beckett," he informs her strictly. "Eat. Or I'll call Ryan and Espo go over to your desk and rearrange all your things and files."  
She smirks. "They wouldn't dare. Not even for you, Castle."  
His eyes bore into hers. "You think? They don't want to see you like this… all worn out and skinny like you'll fall over at any second… any more than I do."  
_Blackmail. _Interesting. Message received, though. Beckett picks up her chopsticks and transports the food from the box to her mouth.

"I'll be very good," Castle promises her sincerely. "I'll stay right out here on the couch and I won't peek at all. I'll come and check on you in an hour or so to make sure you're asleep, and then I'll skedaddle. Scout's honour."  
"You were never a scout."  
"Roguishly Handsome Novelist's honour, then. I'll just sit out here and read…" – he reaches out to the book perched neatly on the edge of the couch, the one she's been perusing in the depths of her sleepless nights – "…Tolstoy, Beckett? In Russian? Really? How am I supposed to read that?" he whines.  
A smirk dances across her face. "You know what, Castle? I have just the book for you."  
She dashes away. One… Two… Yeah, he already misses her.  
She reappears, a copy of _Storm Rising _(slightly charred from the explosion in her previous apartment)clutched in her hands.  
"You know me so well," he tells her delightedly. "Now, get going while I enjoy some quality literature."  
Her eyebrow arcs up immediately, like a startled cat leaping into defensive position. "Literature, Castle? I hardly think -"  
He shoves her away, gently. "Go _sleep_," he instructs firmly.

She nearly says, _come with me?  
_But she doesn't.

It only takes him about twenty minutes to read over all his favourite parts, and the most cringe-worthy, regrettable scenes in the book once she's gone.  
It is, in fact, entirely by accident that he flips to the very first page. _RICHARD CASTLE, _it reads, _STORM RISING [A DERRICK STORM NOVEL]._  
And below that is scrawled something that makes his heart skip a beat or two, and then stop.

_To Kate: May you find answers in the chaos of storms!  
- Richard Castle_

She hadn't been kidding. He really had met her, then. Once. Amid a blur of screaming fans and demanding publicists, she'd been there for a few precious moments.  
How he wishes more than anything in the world that he could remember them.

* * *

**There you have it. Hope you liked.**

**Don't forget to review (they really do brighten my life) and send in any prompts or suggestions you may have as to what you'd like to see happening in later chapters (don't be afraid, I'll love anything you write).**

**If you feel like some more Caskett, go to my bio and check out my other stories.**

**x. EM**


	5. Chapter 5 - A Call to Arms

**Hi guys,**

**Hope you're still enjoying the story! I'm so thankful for all the lovely, generous reviews you've sent in. They make my week. All right, well, here you are, as promised.**

* * *

**Nothing To Worry About (Promise) ****– ****chapter 5  
****a caskett fanfiction**

She lies on her back, listening. Her eyes are closed, but her body is humming with an energy it immediately loses as soon as she stands. Beckett sighs, frustration running through her like hot lead. She knows there is a tiny part of her, buried deep within, that doesn't actually _want _to sleep. Because it knows there will be an endless loop of nightmares, playing in high definition right behind her eyelids. This subconscious reluctance thing reminds her of when she tried to learn to swallow tablets as a kid: she'd accidentally gulped down numerous hard candies that had been far bigger without trouble, and yet for some reason, she could never manage to choke down an aspirin. An unknown faculty in the back of her brain firmly closed her throat, as if it believed the pill would cause pain and suffocation. Which it hadn't, of course. But these nightmares – they do.  
The truth is, they're getting worse.  
She used to see only her mother, stabbed, bleeding out. Or Ryan and Espo, on occasion, wounded and trapped.  
But now she sees Castle. Castle beaten and blooded. Castle knifed through the guts. Castle shot in the abdomen, slowly fading.  
And sometimes, on the darker nights, the nights when she wakes up feeling even more exhausted than when she went to sleep, she sees him pale, still, and gone. He leaves her in her dreams in other ways, too; there is a whole series of visions in which he tires of her brokenness, and turns his back. She can never go back to sleep after those dreams. They make her realise how much she really needs him, how far she would fall if he left her alone.  
Beckett can hear the squeak of her elderly couch as Castle shifts on it.  
After what happened today, she owes it to him, she recognises, to sleep. She owes him her full presence as a partner. So she determinedly quiets her subconscious and rolls over, squeezing her eyes shut. If she's willing to put up with nightmares for anyone, it's him.

Castle quietly sneaks from the couch to her room, careful to avoid any suspicious candidates for creaking floorboards. He gently eases her door open, not wanting to scare her if she's still awake, or disturb her if she has (by some miracle) fallen asleep.  
Beckett lies on her side, curled slightly like someone much younger. How he wishes he could frame her shape with his, hold her close to help her through the night. But he can't.  
Her fingers grip the sheet loosely; her face is passive and still. The dull afternoon sun that spills through the window appears to be clinging to her hair like water droplets, reminding him of angels. If anyone deserves a halo when they die, he reflects, it's her.  
After the things he's seen, he doesn't believe in any gods, but he thinks that if there is a heaven, she could certainly show its occupants a thing or two about beauty. And wisdom. And… perfection, really.  
He panics momentarily as he notes quite how _unmoving _she is. But then he hears Beckett's steady, even breathing, and he calms.  
It's hard to call her Beckett when she looks this way. Right now, so unscarred and untroubled, she is undoubtedly Kate. Like a version of her with the ghosts and demons washed away by an innocent fall of rain.  
Castle spies her mobile resting on the bedside table. He only hesitates a moment before scooping it up, tapping in the password (she knows he knows it, but she's never changed it on him – well, maybe once or twice in the early days, but not anymore) and begins searching for the contact he's looking for.  
_Josh.  
_He finds him under "Recents". It gives Castle a giddy rush of pleasure to see that his name is above that of her boyfriend's on this list. Not that it would mean anything to Beckett. He is simply part of her work sphere, and he knows better than anyone how much bigger her work life is to her than her personal one.  
He jabs the number into his own phone, replaces hers where it was and darts back out into the living room, heading out as far out of her possible earshot as humanely possible.  
It takes a few rings for Josh to pick up. "Hello? Who is this?" he asks, his tone not cheery, but not harried, either. _Good, _Castle thinks. He has a moment, then.  
"This is Castle. Beckett's partner, from the Precinct."  
Josh's tone changes. "Is she okay? Was she hurt?"  
"Well, those are two different questions, Josh. No, she wasn't hurt today. But she's not okay. She hasn't been eating or sleeping properly for weeks – she nearly _passed out _this morning. You're her boyfriend, for crying out loud, _and _you're a doctor – why haven't you… why didn't you…" Castle feels anger building up, humming through the marrow of his bones, but he pushes it down. He knows not everyone feels as protective over Beckett as he does. But this is someone she loves, right? Someone who is supposed to love her. If he gets mad at Josh, though, Beckett probably won't talk to him for weeks.  
There is a sigh from the other end of the line. A worn one. "Look, Castle. I have people's lives to save, just like you and Kate do. And she's a big girl, all right? It's not my job to take care of her."  
"No, it's not," Castle hisses. "But it _is _your job to make sure she still wants to take care of herself. You can't just leave her alone when she's like this. You can't just step back and let her throw herself back down the rabbit hole."  
"Castle, you know as well as I do that if I so much as tried to step in… She'd freeze me out."  
Castle knows how he feels. He knows what it's like to constantly worry about losing her. But Josh is close to losing her already, in a bigger way than he realises. "That's a chance you're going to have to take to keep her safe. You have to love her for her more than you love her for you, Josh. You have to love her being happy more than you love the way she makes you happy. That's how this works, okay? That's love."  
There is a pause, and then he hears Josh take a breath as if to begin a carefully constructed counter-argument, a protest. But Castle cuts him off. "I'm going to hang up now. But you think about this."  
And he does. He hangs up. He's done what he can. He wants Kate to be happy. Josh makes Kate happy, right?  
_You have to love her being happy more than the way she makes you happy. _That's what he'd said. And Castle had meant it. But it's kind of selfish, too, isn't it? Because seeing her happy is what makes him happy.  
Still. The most you can do is the best that you can with what you have left. So while Kate may never, ever love him the way he wishes she would, he _is _going to do the best that he can.  
And if the very best she'll let him do is be here for her, then be here he will be. Whenever she needs him. For always.

* * *

**Hope you liked it. Please review/comment/send in a prompt. Don't forget to check out my other caskett fics if you're in the mood.**

**x. EM **


	6. Chapter 6 - Mostly Broken

**Hi guys,**

**Hope you enjoy this one.**

* * *

**Nothing To Worry About (Promise) ****– ****chapter 6  
****a caskett fanfiction**

In the nightmare, she cannot move.  
Castle is calling for her, soft and helpless. Beckett can see him through the darkness, see the redness pooling around him like spilled milk. He reaches out to her, utter faith in his eyes, an all-consuming belief that she will stand her ground written all over his face.  
"Help me, Beckett," he murmurs. "Save me. I'm bleeding out. You know what that means… don't you?"  
She nods wordlessly, yearning to reach out and touch him, hold him. Hang onto him. But for some reason, she can't.  
"I'm dying, Kate. Do you want to know who killed me?"  
A shake of the head. A _please don't. _She doesn't want to know. She's not sure why. But the idea of it fills her veins with dread, like metal armour weighing her down.  
"It was you, Kate."  
She stops breathing. "Oh," he continues. "You didn't stab me, of course. I don't know who actually killed me, physically. Well, in a moment or two, they'll have killed me. I'm not dead yet, just close."  
Beckett wants to be sick. He's talking so casually about the absolute worst she can ever imagine happening. Like he doesn't mind. He's going to leave, the best person, the best thing ever to happen to her, he's going to fade away like none of it matters.  
_Don't make this about you, Kate, _she tells herself. _It's not about you.  
_"It is, though, Kate," he whispers, as if he can read her mind. He probably can. "It's always been about you. You don't have to deny it - it doesn't mean you're a selfish person, not really. Almost everything in my life revolves around you, and you know that. I'm like this little moon circling a lost planet. You're flying further and further out of orbit, but I'm following, because I always will."  
"I – I didn't kill you, Castle. Rick. I didn't." It seems important that he know this, know that she didn't betray him. That she never will.  
He points a little way to their left. She can see a terrible fortress looming in the dark, a kind of lighthouse guarded by stone walls three feet thick.  
"See the drawbridge? The one that always looks like it's about to open, but never does? That's where I was stabbed. I was waiting, you know. For something I knew would never come."  
"It would've come, Castle. One day, when I was ready, I was going to let you in," she breathes.  
He shakes his head. "I called out for you, over and over, but you let me be. And now we're here."  
"I would've come, Castle. You just… have to wait." She knows that somehow, this isn't about the stabbing anymore. She wonders if that ever happened at all, because she recognises those walls. They're hers.  
"Except I did wait. And I would've waited forever – you know that. Richard Castle is the waiting type, when he needs to be. For you. But you know who doesn't wait? _Life. _We have dangerous jobs, Kate. Like it or not, I'd follow you anywhere. But I won't always be able to follow you back home."  
"I'll come. Every time. I'll save you."  
"Except," he tells her softly, words full of understanding and hopelessness and love, "except that's not how it works, Kate. Because it's too late, beautiful." Castle gets whiter and whiter, paler and paler. Becomes less and less defined at the edges. He's disappearing, bit by bit. "I'm already gone."  
And she's left trapped in the nightmare, all alone, with nowhere to turn and no one she loves. Because she let him get away. Gave the world time to take him away, as the world is wont to do.

He's just about to leave (honest to god, he really was going to go this time round) when he hears it.  
Crying.  
Castle taps his own cheeks. Dry. Hopefully, there is only the two of them in the house, and no extra, depressed intruder.  
This leaves him only with an impossible turn of events – or, rather, something very, very improbable.  
Kate Beckett is crying.  
Carefully, and very much aware that he could be about to poke the proverbial sleeping tiger in the eye whilst dressed to the nines in a suit of steak, Castle delicately brushes open the door to her room. He expects to see her on the floor, cradling a photograph of her mother, or the watch of her father. Or some other memento of the numerous incarnations of darkness she has been forced to face.  
But, to his very great surprise, she is still asleep, her fists twisting painfully in the sheets and her body shifting constantly as if buffeted by the wind. Her eyes roll like pinballs under her lids.  
It kind of breaks his heart.  
Much as he wants her to sleep, knows that she needs to sleep, he can't leave her like this. He can't simply walk out of her apartment while she sobs in the grips of some unknown and unfathomable terror.  
He kneels down beside the bed, close enough to touch Beckett and for her to recognise him when she wakes, but far enough that she can shut him out if she wants to.  
Which she will want to, of course. He just has to pretend like he doesn't know that. Has to pretend he still believes there's hope every time he tries.  
Castle reaches out, and gently shakes her shoulder. "Come on, Kate," he says, loudly, so as to penetrate through the swathes of sleep, and soothing, so as not to scare her further. "Come back to me, Kate. Back to Earth. Come on. Wake up."  
Her breathing, uneven, slows slightly, and her eyes crack open, tears swirling over their beauty like rain against a stain glass window.  
Something dances through those brown orbs laced with gold, something as stark as fairy dust and as powerful as lightning.  
He braces himself to be brushed aside, told it's _nothing. _  
Instead, the unexpected occurs.  
She reaches out for him, draws him close, buries her face in his neck and cries.  
He can feel her tears on his skin and soaking through his shirt. Without hesitance, he wraps his arms around her, shifting so he's perched on the edge of the bed, so she's not stretching as far. Castle runs a hand through her hair, murmuring calming nonsense to her, anything to make the sobbing stop. He'll ask about her dream later. Now is not the time, not yet, while she's still half in it.  
Somewhere in the midst of her tears, he accidentally forgets himself, forgets her walls, forgets all the reasons _why he can't _and pulls her up into his lap, holding her close. He kisses the top of her forehead and begins to rock back and forth, slowly, slowly.  
He wonders how often she breaks down like this. How often the images in her mind are so terrible they cause her to fracture this way. How often she is forced to wait it out alone.

He is warm.  
For the first time in a very, very long while, she feels safe. He _makes _her feel safe. Almost like she's surrounded by walls again, but an entirely different kind. These walls, Castle's walls, are not designed to keep her trapped inside with all the bad things, desperately trying to fight her way to the gates and let in the good. These walls provide solace from the demons, just her and him, facing the world, like they have for years.  
Together. It's the best way.  
She can feel his uncertainty, though, whirring under his skin. He's caught between being terrified of her fragility and how easily she might break further, and how strong she thinks she is, strong enough to push him away.  
But she's too tired to push.  
So she does what she's wanted to do for innumerable days. She lets him hold her. She hangs onto him and he hangs onto her. There is nothing else, nothing quite so real as this, for her to hang onto, really.  
Castle pulls back slightly to look at her. "I'm not leaving till you're okay," he tells her, trying to look sure of himself but failing slightly. "But when you want me to go… When I'm gone… If this happens again, tonight, or any other night, I don't care if it's midnight or three in the morning, you just call me, okay? You call me and we'll sit here together until it goes away."  
All she hears is _when I'm gone. _She doesn't want to ever leave his warmth, the way this feels with him, how they _fit _when they're together.  
"Will you – will you just stay, please, Castle? For a while? Just stay with me," she murmurs.  
And he does.

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed it! Please review and make my night, or send in any prompts you may have, either for this story or any others you'd like me to write.**

**If you're still in a casketty mood, check out my other stories.**

**x EM **


	7. Chapter 7 - Love is Like Water

**Hi guys,**

**Sorry for the delay in updating, I've been pretty busy. Anyway, to make up for it, this chapter is nice and long.**

**I've also made some new cover art for this story (and all my other ones). Check it out at my tumblr, **

**This chapter is a little different from the others, but I hope you enjoy it.**

* * *

**Nothing To Worry About (Promise) ****– ****chapter 7  
****a caskett fanfiction**

Castle watches her brow wrinkle as she seems to remember something. He waits patiently until she reveals to him what it is (if she ever does); it is hard to worry when she is right here, warm in his arms, not running, not hiding, not shutting him out.

He knows she's the one having the inescapable, realistic dreams, so why is it him who feels he is just about to wake up?

"Alexis," Beckett says finally. "Won't Alexis need you at home?"  
He can't help feeling relieved, though for two very different reasons: one, she cares enough about Alexis for the thought to enter her head, and two, means the frown was not a '_this moment is a mistake' _frown.  
"No," he tells her. "She's staying over at Paige's tonight. Some hard-core study time, probably. Maybe a movie marathon. I don't know."  
Beckett nods silently.  
An idea occurs to him. "Was that my cue to leave?" he asks, tilting his head. He knows Beckett's not all that comfortable with letting people this close. Perhaps she's too far out of her comfort zone, and was trying to find a nice way to ask him to go. So long as she's okay now, it's fine by him if he has to leave.

Well, okay, it's not _fine _exactly – he'd much rather stay. Even if he has to sit on the couch all night. Just being in the proximity of her makes him feel… happy. He wonders what he could have possibly done to be lucky enough to know someone like her. Perhaps he hasn't done it yet – maybe having his life intertwined (however briefly) with Kate Beckett's is like a debt he'll have to repay with some sacrifice later on.  
Whatever the price is, he reflects, it'll have been worth it.

"No," she murmurs. "I don't want you to leave. Not yet."  
"I won't," he assures her. She is warm and alive against his chest, her head tucked under his chin. Castle wonders if she can hear how fast his heart is beating.

He can feel her breathing evening out, no longer torn and ragged from the nightmare. Maybe she'll drift off again soon.

But he can't let her go back to sleep without knowing no more dreams will chase her there. Sometimes it is easier to share ghosts. So he asks.  
"Kate? What did you dream? What did you see?"

* * *

Her breath catches.

She never wants to talk about these things, usually. Not even on the one or two times Josh happened to be around for one of the nightmares.

But her mouth is beginning to open off its own accord, words are beginning to well without her permission.

She drowns them hurriedly. Beckett can't exactly tell him she dreams about him, not while he's holding her like this.

Not when she's liable to lean up and kiss him at any moment for no particular reason, just because he's Castle, and she…

Right. He's Castle. She can't break what they have. She _needs_ this. Them. Him.

Still, she has horrible dreams about Esposito, Ryan and Lanie, too, doesn't she? Maybe she can just pretend that this dream was exactly like those ones (it's not enough to convince herself, but maybe she can convince him).

"You died," she whispers to him. Wonders how he'll react. If he'll be sad or mad or understanding.  
"Okay," he replies. "Was your mother there? I know it's getting close to the anniversary of her… Did you have to see that again?"  
"No, she – she wasn't there…" Beckett tugs away from Castle, wanting to see his face. For some reason, she's angry. "_Okay?_" she says. "_Okay? _I can't just tell you you've died in my head, and have you say, _okay._"  
Castle shrugs, gazes back at her. "We're trying to get back the traumatic aspects of the nightmares, Beckett. So you can sleep and they won't haunt you. If your mother wasn't there, was your dad? Was Josh?"  
Beckett stares at him. "No. It was just you."

She refrains from adding, _that's the most traumatic kind of nightmare, you idiot._

He looks kind of startled for a second, but clears his face quickly. "All right, then. How did I die?"  
"Someone stabbed you," she tells him. "You were bleeding out."  
Understanding washes over his face like candlelight. "Oh. Just like your mom, hey?"

Beckett cannot quite determine why, but it makes her so incredibly frustrated that he keeps trying to link the pain of the nightmare to someone else. Not to shift some kind of ghostly, figurative blame. Nothing like that. Just as if doesn't quite believe his death would cause her _that much _pain, for her to cry and thrash and sob when she _knew _it was only a dream.

"No," she informs him. "Not like her. I couldn't _see _where you'd been stabbed, not really. But I could see the blood, and it was my fault…"  
Castle frowns. "How was it your fault?"

She can't exactly tell him the entire nightmare was effectively her subconscious trying to metaphorically riddle out her relationship with him. "I was safe. Somewhere. Inside a fortress, I think. And you were still outside. I was supposed to lower the drawbridge and let you in, but I was… too slow."  
"Hey, Beckett?"  
"Yeah?" (She kind of wishes he'd go back to calling her Kate. But he only seems to do that when she's sad or terrified, when he thinks she won't notice. But she does. It does strange things to the rhythm of her breathing, of her heartbeats).  
"Nothing that happens to me is _ever _your fault, okay? If I get hurt, like today, or if something goes wrong on a case and I do die, no one's ever going to blame you, okay? Least of all me."

Beckett feels cold all of a sudden, and leans back against his chest, feels him warmth envelop her as well as his arms. She thinks he's finished, but he starts talking again.

"No one would blame you, Beckett. And nothing would change. They wouldn't take your badge away, and you could still look into your mother's murder. I signed those wavers, remember? You'll never have to be responsible for anything that happens to me."

Everything he says is wrong. All of it.

I_ would blame me.  
Everything would change.  
I'd hand in that badge.  
I wouldn't be able to look at my mother's file, especially if looking into that was what got you killed.  
I'll always be responsible for everything. We're partners. _

"That's the whole nightmare?"  
She nods. He breathes out. "Why do you look so – so… relieved?"  
Castle quickly makes his face blank, but sighs and elaborates anyway. "Well, I mean, I just thought that the second half of that dream would be that stab-happy someone, I don't know, scaling the fortress walls and hunting you down."  
"So?"  
"So? So I'm glad that you don't have dreams like that, too. It's bad enough if I have a dream with you dying, let alone you having to live through one."  
She glares at him. "So you're allowed to get upset if you have a dream about _me _dying, but it's okay for you to wave it off as _not my fault _if I have a dream about _you _dying?"  
"Beckett, I'm not devaluing your nightmares -"  
"But you are kind of saying that you have more of a right to terrified of that kind of thing happening than me?"

She feels him freeze around her.

* * *

He lets her slide gently off his lap as he moves away from her. He has to stand up. Move. Run, maybe? He's never run from Beckett before. Maybe because he's never had to. Because, you know, she's always been the one running from him.

Castle stands up, begins to pace away. He should leave now.

"Hey!" Beckett calls after him. Angry. Who cares? If he cracks, if he accidentally says something he really, really means, she'll be angrier in a second, anyway. She's standing, too. She looks small without her heels. "Answer me, Castle."

And then something inside him breaks, because things as celestial and powerful as this have a way of leaking through of the cracks. Love is like water: the stones you invent to block its path, to stave it off (because it is as much of a dead end running straight for a wall), eventually get worn away. Leaving nothing to stop you from saying things that will ruin the best friendship you've ever had simply because you did something stupid like form it with someone it was an inevitability to wind up loving.

"Yes," he tells her. "I _am _allowed to be more terrified, okay? I've earned that. Because the truth is, Kate? If I die tomorrow, you'll get up the next day and keep working cases and hunting down your mother's killer. You'll still have Ryan and Espo and Lanie and life will be exactly like it was a few years ago. Your life revolves around murders, and I come into that somewhere. But me, Kate? Somehow, my life has come to revolve around you. I was pulled into your orbit before I even knew I was close. I'm not here for the murders, Kate. But you probably know that by now."

* * *

All she can think about are the words _life will be exactly like it was. _All she can see is that chair by her desk. Before him, it was just _unoccupied. _After him, it would be _empty. _

And then she hears what he says next, and it actually breaks her heart. "Basic fact of our relationship, Kate? I need you ten thousand times more than you need me. And ninety-nine percent of the time, I'm okay with that. I'm used to it. But don't you start… Because you _know_ that I…" Then his face hardens, and she watch him box up the emotions in that realm behind his eyes. "Call me if you have another nightmare, I'll come."

He walks out of her room. A few seconds later, she hears the front door shut quietly.

_Call me. I'll come. _He said that in all seriousness; he knew he meant it.  
The thing is, she knows he means it, too. Because no matter what she does, how stupid she is, how many walls she puts up, he always comes.

But he's not here now, is he? He's gone.

She remembers her younger self, all those years ago, trying to figure out a way to get rid of the writer, to steer him away.

_You want an answer, Kate? _She thinks.  
_Step One: let him fall in love with you.  
Step Two: break his heart (because he thinks you don't love him back). _

* * *

***gasp* What will happen next?  
Hope you enjoyed it. I was ****_this_**** close those to giving you all a nice happy ending, but at the last minutes decided this would be 1000x times more fun. Don't forget to review/comment/send in a prompt, and follow me on tumblr for updates and sneak peaks.**

**Still feeling casketty? Also by moi (*cue shameless self promo*)**

**1. ****_Three Small Facts (A Love a Story): _**Fact 1: He is six. Today is his birthday (he doesn't know yet that this is going to be the best birthday of his life) Fact 2: Today is the first time he meets a girl who he thinks is amazing. Perfect, really. Fact 3: She is the love of his life. A Caskett AU long-fic where the characters are little kids. Lots of Castle and Beckett, though Castle's perspective.

**2. Still Betting On Us, Boys? [NEW]: **Ryan hands him the twenty. "Huh," he mutters, "I didn't think she'd take him back." But that wasn't the first time the partners had bet on Castle & Beckett, and it wouldn't be the last. A collection of wagers that Esposito and Ryan make on the little and big Caskett things. Of course, no matter what, they're betting that those two make it, always. (And they do). Cute Caskett.

**If you're already reading these, know that updates should be out soon.**

**Have a good night/day!**

**x.M**

PS. I've had some complaints about formatting and the text being too close together, and have gone to great lengths to try and fix this. Please let me know if it's any better.


	8. Chapter 8 - How They've Always Been

**Hi guys,**

**Sorry for the delay in updates. I hope you're all still enjoying this story. I've had a really great response so far. Unfortunately, this chapter is not happy and upbeat yet, but we'll get there. I did promise fluffy originally, didn't I? Apologies. The story is going where it wants, and I can't really force it down a path it doesn't want to walk.**

* * *

**Nothing To Worry About (Promise) ****– ****chapter 8  
****a caskett fanfiction**

The night air is good. It's cold and sharp.

He wishes it suited him. He wishes he was cold and sharp and untouchable; just like her. He wishes he had the same ability to keep people out, to shove them away, and fortify his own solitude in iron.

Castle can do that with some people. Just not with her. She found her way in without trying.

Still, he can learn, surely. He can build his own walls, brick by brick, and find a way to hide from how much he loves her. And even if she does something small and perfect and utterly Kate that knocks the walls down, he will remake them, time and time again.

He will do whatever it takes for her to let him stay. At the top of that list, he knows, is him _not _being in love with her.

So maybe he can't do that, but he can pretend.

Castle managed to fool _himself_ for years; he can probably do the same for her. She is a detective, he realises, but she won't be looking for clues. Kate's one of those people who doesn't expect others to love them, doesn't need them to, and this, of course, invariably draws everyone in. It's hard to not want to follow when you see someone like her walk into a room.

He leans against the rough brick of the back of Beckett's building, letting the wind whisper condolences in his ear and the threat of snow that hangs in the air kiss his cheek in sympathy.

They have seen this kind of thing before, he reflects. They must know the way this goes entirely off by heart.

Unrequited love is nothing if not unoriginal.

_Boy meets girl.  
Girl hates boy.  
Boy loves girl._

For someone who writes stories for a living, Castle did a hell of a job getting stuck in one.

In his opinion, unrequited love is a far greater tragedy than that of, say, Romeo and Juliet. Because even if those two died, at least they died _together. _At least they had a few moments.

Due to the whole fighting-bad-guys-for-a-living thing, it is highly likely that Castle and Beckett will be killed at the same time, at the same place, probably even right next to each other.

But they won't die _together. _It'll just be simultaneously alone.

* * *

She wants to go after him. So badly. She wants to run out into the oncoming night in her tank top and sweats and tell him…

Tell him _what_? What can she say to him now, after everything?

_If you want to leave, I understand.  
I'm sorry I'm broken.  
_Maybe just _thanks. For, you know. For it all.  
_Perhaps _I wish I hadn't loved you quietly._

Her phone rings, breaking her trail of thought. Kate's heart leaps wildly for a moment, for that half second she is absolutely sure it is him calling because it always is. Castle seems to know when she needs to talk to him. That she really means _please stay _when she tells him to get out.

But it's not Castle calling.

She breathes out, feeling the disappointment flooding her veins faster than her blood.

It's Josh.

Kate's about to ignore it, to let it ring itself out, when she realises what she really wants to do is answer it. Then hang up. And not have to worry about answering again.

"Hello?"  
"Oh, Kate, hi. Glad you picked up. I think your reception must be getting worse. Listen, about your friend, Castle, he called me, and Kate -" He's already rambling. It's not _how are you_, even though they haven't talked in days. It's not about _her. _It's about who might take _her _away from _him. _  
"What did he say?"  
"Oh, he was talking about you not getting enough sleep. And how I should be watching out for you more. But that's not your style, right? And I know he's your partner, Kate, but I'm not sure how comfortable I am with -"  
"Josh?"  
"Yeah?" he sounds hesitant. Like he's tired and he knows this is coming. Because he's probably known since her 'reception' got worse. Since the very beginning, maybe.  
"I don't – I don't want to have the discussion."  
"Oh. I know you must be tired, Kate. Castle told me -" His name burns through her. _Castle. _Castle's gone, though. "And I know you probably don't want to have this discussion now, but -"  
"Not just _now_, Josh," she tells him quietly.  
"Ever?"  
She sighs. "We could have it, sometime, I suppose. But you're going to tell me you don't like how close we are, Castle and I. That you think he likes me too much. That I should take a step back." She gives a wry, hollow little smile. "But you're not going to like what you hear, and you know that, I think."  
An answering sigh travels the distance between the two of them. "Yeah."  
"I'm sorry, and -"  
"…Yeah."  
"Bye, Josh."  
"Another time, Kate."

There won't be another time. She knows it, but maybe he doesn't. Maybe he doesn't realise this is a permanent breakup (she'll admit she never _called it_ that, not exactly, but it's what she means – she's just always been terrible at these kinds of things, because they invariably hurt the other person more than her). But it is.

Because when she hangs up the phone, she is hanging up on him. On them. For good.

Kate throws her phone down on the bed, wishing she was wherever Castle is.

But she can't go after him, because he'll be long gone by now.

* * *

Maybe what he needs is a break, Castle thinks. Time to regroup. Time to recover. Time to forget some of the little tiny details about Beckett that make him crazy in love with her.

He sighs. Who is he kidding? He could move to Italy for twenty years, not have one phone call from her and still be able to write a whole series of encyclopaedias with facts about Kate Beckett.

He could always just get in his car and drive. Just _anywhere_.

Castle digs his palms into his eyes. He's handling this all wrong. This isn't how she works. If he flees, it'll make everything seem more important than she thinks it is. And he doesn't want to confuse her. The best thing he can do is show up at the next body drop and pretend she never cried, that he never held her, and that he doesn't love her. That's _all _he can do, really.

He can't drive far away, because what if she needs him?

_She has Ryan and Espo, _he reminds himself. _She doesn't really _need _you, Castle._

He knows that's true. It doesn't mean it's the end of the world, though, right? Like he said, he needs her way more than she needs him, and he's always known that.

Just, sometimes, he wishes she would let herself need him.

He shakes his head to clear it. _He's _the one making too big a deal out of things. She's Beckett and he's Castle. She's not taking care of herself, and he's trying to make her. She's haunted and he's trying to reach her. They had one of those brief moments where it felt like he might get the girl in the end. But this is how they've always been. Nothing has changed.

He got out before he did anything really stupid, anything that would make them unsalvageable.

He left before he kissed her_._

He left before he said something like _I love you._

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed it. This story is ending up so much heavier than I ever intended, originally it was just going to be ****_for godsake eat some dinner, Beckett _****fluff. Oh, well. **

**If you ****_did _****happen to like it, please review/comment/send in a prompt or idea of where you want this to go. Would you guys be interested in them going even slightly canon in this fic, or do you would you prefer it if I kept them apart?**

**x.M**


	9. Chapter 9 - At 5am

**Hi guys.**

**I've tried my best to update quickly. You all seem pretty keen for them to get together soon, and while it's definitely going to happen, sadly, it's not this chapter. But you won't have to wait ****_too _****long. I'm not the actual Castle writers, who made us wait ****_four freaking seasons. _**

**I'm so pleased with the response to this story, it's only been up here 2 weeks and it's already got over 100 readers (I'm a novice on this website, so I'm not sure if that's ****_actually _****good or not, but it doesn't seem ****_horrible_****.)**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter, there's a lot more from Beckett's perspective...**

* * *

**Nothing To Worry About (Promise) ****– ****chapter 9  
****a caskett fanfiction**

After what seems like a forever of trying to fall asleep again, Beckett finally gives up. It's no use. She _knows _there are nightmares waiting. Nightmares filled with him.

Too bad when she wakes up, the nightmares don't end.

He's gone in her dreams and he's gone in real life, too. And she _let_ him go.

She let Castle walk out the door because she doesn't quite understand him, or her, or them, and the words that she needed wouldn't come.

He's the one with the words.

She just hopes his next ones to her are not something like _goodbye, Beckett. _

It hasn't come down to that, has it? She hasn't managed to ruin one of the few relationships that have actually _meant _something to her this easily, right?

Yeah, she'll never sleep. Too many thoughts squabbling in this head of hers. That's always been her problem, though, hasn't it? Thinking too much. If she didn't, then she and Castle probably would've got together years ago.

With a sigh, Beckett digs her palms into her eyes and stands up. Time to regroup, she decides. Back to home base.

She tugs on some proper clothes, and heads for the Precinct again.

It's four am by the time she nestles into her office chair, purposely ignoring the empty seat beside her desk.

She fills out the paperwork from their case, wincing as she adds Castle's injury to her statement. True to his nature, Castle will probably be whining non-stop about the wound and invent stories of great conflicts and braveries.

And she'll be glad, because a melodramatic Castle is a thousand times better than a cheerful anyone else.

The body drops at five fifteen.

Nothing like a murder bright and early to start the day.

Beckett tugs her jacket tighter around herself against the chill of the alley. She often unconsciously uses Castle as a shield from the wind, letting herself stand just close enough to feel his warmth, but far enough away to manage to resist the urge to allow him to wrap her in his arms.

It's getting harder and harder to fight that particular instinct, now, no matter how small or great the distance is between them. And after last night, when he'd held her and she'd felt safe for the first time in a great long while, she's running out of reasons why she _should_ fight it.

She knows there's something strange about where she stands, in the space between warehouses, next to a prone human form.

Oh.

It reminds her of another time, another alley, and another body. That body hadn't been still, of course. It had been warm and close and _kissing _her – she closes her eyes at the memory. The bite of the air forgotten with the proximity of him. With the realisation of how _much _she wants this. Them.

Ryan and Espo arrive as soon as they get her texts.

"He was shot with a thirty-eight. Twice in the chest, once in the back and once in the face. No wallet or ID, but I've got uniforms canvasing the area," she informs them brusquely, sounding nearly as cold as the wind.

The boys don't seem to mind.

After nearly twenty minutes, she's sure he won't come. He always texts if he's going to be delayed, and ususally at least begs for the details of the crime if he can't make it. Most often he calls. Even if the call is only a minute long, he manages to make her grin at least twice, sometimes even laugh.

And he still thinks it's the coffee that makes her smile at five in the morning.

* * *

Castle rounds the corner, two hot Styrofoam cups clutched in his hands.

It took a while to convince himself to come this morning. He debated over it, over everything he let slip, over every expression that crossed her face, until he realised that argument and almost-confession or not, with her is where he wants to be right now. Or, you know, _ever. _

Even if it is at five o'clock in the morning in an alley with a corpse. Death is what brought them together, but he's not sure what it is keeping them apart.

Maybe, _maybe, _they're just not meant to be. It's a stupid, fanciful notion, but Richard Castle is nothing if not a writer, and writer's heads are often filled with such ideas. Perhaps he is fated to have hundreds of ordinary women throw themselves at him, rich women, beautiful women, talented women, but cursed so that the only one he's ever _really _fallen in love with, the only one he's ever actually been willing to do _anything_ for, will never feel the same way about him.

Still, fate was kind enough to let him meet her, let him become her partner, and if that's good enough for fate, it's good enough for Castle.

Well, _almost _good enough. He'll never find it in himself to stop wishing.

Castle rounds the corner and catches sight of Kate, who is frowning at something a uniform is communicating to her using a lot of mildly wild hand gestures.

Then she glances up, and sees him.

Kate looks confused for a moment (she didn't expect him to come, he realises), and then she smiles.

Castle has to fight the urge to run to every apartment in the city, wake everyone, drag them from their beds, out into the streets and say, "Look. Look at her. She's smiling. Isn't she beautiful? Isn't that smile just the best thing you've ever seen?"

"Hey," she murmurs, walking up to him. Beckett looks tired. He doesn't like that, but he's not sure what he can do to fix it. He could go over and sit with her again, but he'll have to keep himself under better control this time.  
"Morning." He hands Beckett her cup, can't help but watch as her pale fingers curl around it, seeking the warmth of the liquid within as if it were diamonds. "Cold?" Castle asks, smirking. While those jackets of hers may be _hot_, they're probably not exactly warm.  
She shrugs. "A bit."  
Once upon a time, he would've gone out of his way to earn himself a slap by making suggestions as to what they could do to very effectively warm up, but today, he just tilts his head in sympathy. "Want my coat?" he asks.  
She _almost _says yes. He can feel it. But Castle watches as memories of the previous night flood her mind, and she hesitates. "I'll be right," Kate assures him. "Besides, if I took your jacket, then _you'd _be cold, and I like being able to study my crime scene without you whinging away in the background."  
"Aye, aye, Captain," he smiles.

And just like that, they're back to the way they always were, ignoring the things they've always chosen to ignore.

But he's not sure if that's a good thing.

Because he so wishes he could use the word 'always' with them in a different context.

* * *

**Hope you all liked it. Please review/comment/send in a prompt.**

**This weekend I have a two physics exams and two maths exams to study for, as well as a LIT essay and a French presentation, so I can't really predict when the next update will be. It might be in two hours (if I'm procrastinating) or four days.**

**In the mean time, feel free to check out my other stories, ****_Three Small Facts (A Love Story) _****and ****_Still Betting On Us, Boys_****? both of which are caskett.**

**x. M**


	10. Chapter 10 - Round in These Circles

**Hi guys,**

**Sorry for how long it's taken to update. I know I'm normally faster than this, but imminent exams are crushing down.**

**You've all been begging for this fic to make Caskett go canon, and I've decided to let us inch closer...**

* * *

**Nothing To Worry About (Promise) ****– ****chapter 10  
****a caskett fanfiction**

"Good work, boys," Kate mutters, giving them a small, tired smile. She can feel the exhaustion buzzing through her veins like alcohol, and glances at the clock on the wall. It's creeping up on midnight. "Ryan, get home to Jenny. Espo, get home to who we're all pretending you're not going home to."

Castle makes a coughing noise that sounds suspiciously like _Lanie, _but only loud enough for just Beckett to hear.

The two other official NYPD Detectives grin at her, a special cop blend of wired and wiped, and then grab their jackets and race towards the elevator. "Thanks, boss!" Esposito calls over his shoulder as they dash away.

Beckett stoops over her desk to grab a stray form that is wedged under her keyboard. "You too, Castle," she instructs. "You should go home to -"  
"They're both out," he tells her. There is something warm about his expression right now that melts her a little in a way she resolutely refuses to acknowledge on the outside. "Remember?"  
She nods, still a touch distracted by that look in his eyes that is surrounding her like a hug. "Right. Yeah."  
"It means I also get the delightful duty of making sure you actually go _home _tonight. Case or no case, Beckett. The boys and I drew straws so that one of us would stay back and make sure you didn't use your desk as a stake out facility again."

She wonders if they _actually _drew straws. She didn't see them, although it's possible they did. Far more likely that Castle volunteered, even if for the sole purpose of not putting the boys at any great inconvenience.

Or maybe it's just because they're partners, and it's their job to look after each other, no matter what.

"Five more minutes, Castle?" she asks, not quite begging, but not sounding as much the hardened professional she usually does. More like an indignant teenager. "I reckon if I could just look over -"  
"Nope," he tells her firmly, grabbing her jacket in one hand and her elbow in the other, and dragging her towards the elevator after him. "Sorry, Beckett. But if you start pleading, then five minutes will turn into ten and before you know it, it'll be three in the morning. Mr McAllister will still be dead tomorrow at a reasonable hour, Kate, and someone will still have murdered him. It's not your job to put a second manslaughter charge on that man's hands because you killed yourself trying to hunt him down."

She grumbles unintelligibly at him, but she's not mad, not really. Not when he's calling her _Kate _and his hand is on her arm and all she can think about is the other night and how he scared off the nightmares simply by being warm and present and _Castle. _"Fine," she huffs.

Castle grins at her, apparently indecently awake for this time of night. "Come on, Beckett, don't look so cross. You and I both know you're not half so much fun when you're all grumpy and tired. And plus, you let your guard down. It's after we pull all-nighters that you agree to unleash your inner Vice cop and go undercover at nightclubs and stuff."  
She raises an eyebrow at that. "And that's such a terrible thing?" Beckett pries, her inhibitors that usually stop her from trying to get a rise out of him having formally signed around an hour ago.  
Something flashes across his eyes. "It's a veritable recipe for something you might regret," he offers eventually, as the doors of the lift softly _ding, _not giving her a chance to answer.

She cannot help, however, the unbidden thoughts that cross her mind. _Or, Castle, perhaps it would transpire to be a recipe for something we should have done a long time ago._

* * *

His head is now full of mental images (both memories and some snapshots courtesy of his writer's imagination) of Beckett going undercover in Vice costumes.

Damn.

Oh, well. There are far worse things to occupy his mind, he'll admit. But he's got to stay focussed in _this _moment, right now, with her, in the parking lot. In case, you know, _he_ does something that _he'll _regret. Like kiss her. Not cos it wouldn't be amazing, because it would be, for however many seconds it could last before she pushed him off. Just because it would just be kind of heartbreaking to hear a proper, resounding _no._ For real. Quelling all the little hopes that had arisen around her not because of much encouragement, as a result of minimal discouragement.

Castle slides into his side of her Crown Vic, marvelling at the memories that immediately swallow him. The first time he got in here: his book launch party, all those years ago, before he knew what he was missing by not loving Kate Beckett; before he met who he never knew he wanted. He's been handcuffed to this car; he's slept in this car; he's had stakeouts in this car; he's been dragged out of this car and shoved into it. Once, on a very good day, he even awoke in the driver's seat with Beckett's head on his shoulder. Admittedly, she'd been drugged and placed there, but it had still been very cool.

Ideas pop into his head as to what else he'd like to happen in this car, but he pushes them down.

Beckett is glaring at the road as if it were a perp in the interrogation booth snidely refusing to confess.

"You get cute when you get cross," he tells her. "Well, cut_er_."

The smirk jumps to her lips before she can stop it, though she manages to quash it pretty quickly. His heart leaps, though, and he records the few seconds that small smile was alive to store in his mind forever.

* * *

She's worried.

Not _stressed _worried, just generally concerned. After a certain amount of alcohol or exceeding level of exhaustion, she becomes less and less in control of her impulses.

And she's definitely very, very, exhausted.

Normally, that wouldn't be a problem, not when her 'impulses' consist of another cup of from Castle's coffee machine, or reading a Derrick Storm or Sherlock Holmes for a minute on her phone when she's bored and can't sleep.

But when 'impulses' are leaning more towards kissing Castle, the lack of inhibitors becomes more of a problem.

_Would kissing him be such a problem, though, really? Isn't it kind of inevitable? Don't you _want_ it, Kate Beckett?_

She sighs, shaking her head and glaring harder at the road. They're the thoughts she has to crush down.

She's not even sure what's holding her back, anymore. She's not really that scared, her walls aren't crushing in on her, and she trusts Castle completely. And she _does _want to.

Maybe tiredness doesn't just reduce her self-control.

Maybe it kind of makes her honest, too.

Because, she realises, there is nothing actually _stopping _her and Castle anymore. Not really.

Except his reluctance to push her and her inability to push.

_Will they keep going in circles, or will one of them eventually crack and send things over the edge? _she wonders.

And how long will it take?

* * *

**How long ****_will _****it take? You'll have to wait and see...**

**Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Don't forget to review/comment/send in a prompt (not just for this story, but for an entirely new one if the fancy takes you, I'm looking to put up some new oneshots/chapter fics/long fics)**

**I released a new story a couple of days ago, ****_To Say I Love You, Little By Little, _****so click on my bio to go check it out if you're in the mood, as well as any of my other collections if you haven't already.**

**I'll try to update soon.**

**x. M**


	11. Chapter 11 - A Change in the Game

**Hi guys,**

**I'm so, so sorry for the massive delay between chapters.  
I've been dealing with some serious medical issues lately, and I haven't been able to update for you. Thanks for not ditching me. You guys are the best!**

**Anyway, I know you're all desperate for them to get together, so I'm working on it! I hope you enjoy this chapter.  
It's probably not quite up there with the others quality-wise, because I'm getting back into the rhythm of my story after having had to leave it a while. So, if it's not quite what you expected, I am genuinely sorry, and feel free to yell at me in the reviews. I hate disappointing you all as much as you hate being disappointed, believe me.**

**At least it's not the world's shortest chapter.**

* * *

**Nothing To Worry About (Promise) ****– ****chapter 11  
****a caskett fanfiction**

The darkness cloaks the air like a blanket swaddling a baby, the night air creeping through the vents in the dashboard to wash over Castle's face, making him more awake that ever.

He shifts uncomfortably, the loose spring in his seat digging into the small of his back. He glances over at Beckett, watching the way the glow of the streetlights illuminates her face at intervals, making her usually metaphorical angelic shine actually physical. Bright. Dark. Bright. Dark. Bright. The light clings to her features as if cherishing its closeness to her; its time with Kate Beckett.

In that way, those stray, lucky photons remind him of him.

With her one moment, gone the next.

He takes a moment to examine not just her beauty, but _her. _She looks better than she has lately: a little more rested and a touch less starved and frantic. But it's not good enough – well, maybe for her, but not for him. He wants (_needs_) her to be healthy and happy and whole.

And right now, she's not.

"Look," he begins, cautiously, testing the waters of her mood before continuing.

"Yeah?" she mutters, eyes still on the road.

"Don't get mad, but I really don't think you should be left alone with all those nightmares. I really don't. I know you disagree, and think that you can manage it yourself. Which you can, obviously. You're very independent and capable and you know I know that. But you don't always have to push away help with in this kind of thing, Kate. Suffering in silence doesn't mean you're braver. It just means you're alone. And you don't have to be by yourself. I know you don't see it, but you have so many people who love you. Let me call someone, to be with you. Josh. Will you let me call him? He'll come sit with you. I know he will," Castle rattles off. He hates to push Beckett and her boyfriend even closer, but he hates the thought of her fighting off her demons with no one to help her even more.

"He won't come," Beckett tells him calmly, her expression flickering for a moment to something unidentifiable.

If Castle had been driving the car, he would've slammed on the breaks and pulled over. "What do you mean? Of course he'll come for you. Who wouldn't?"

"We broke up, Castle. Josh is gone. That's over. It's done. I'm done with it," she informs him. There is a lilt in her voice he can't pick. Maybe it's tears? It doesn't sound like it, but it's probably just a new, end-of-relationship crying he's not familiar with.

"I'm so sorry, Kate," he begins, before a terrible thought occurs to him. "It wasn't my fault, was it? Because I called him, about you, and about your nightmares and stuff, and I guess maybe I was a bit too rude. I'm so sorry. Maybe he thinks that I'm trying to… I can call him now and clear anything up, Beckett, I swear I will," he stumbles.

"That _is_ kinda the reason we ended it, Castle, but not like you think," Beckett says, turning to glance at him quickly before her eyes dance back to the road.

He tilts his head curiously. "What do you mean?"

* * *

Beckett thinks for a moment, trying to decide on what to actually _tell _him. She can't just come out and say that she called it off because who she really, _really _wants is not, in fact, Josh. And it never was.

But she can't dump that on him now. Not at midnight, in this car, on their way around the city. It's not a good idea. To tell him something like _I want to give this a try_ and _it was never him, it was always you_ requires a 'moment'. One of those times when both of them feel hopeful and happy, not tired, run down and in need of food of sleep.

Even though part of her doesn't really care, and can't wait for something to happen, something like the two of them becoming an _us._ That part urges her to ignore her common sense, pull over to the side of the road and tell Castle everything.

Because he's Castle, and no matter if he's exhausted or frustrated or sad, he will always, _always _have time for her. Hasn't he been kept waiting long enough?

But she shuts that rebellious faction of her mind down, quelling its ideas. Today is not the day for things to change.

Maybe tomorrow? Or the day after. Someday.

She decides to say only the bare minimum of what he needs to know. "Well, _I_ broke up with _him_. He got sort of… _territorial _about me, you know? Like, he said he wasn't 'comfortable' with us working together. But we're partners, Castle. That's not something he can change. He doesn't get a say in that."

"I… Oh, um… Look, however it happened, Kate, whether it was my fault or nobody's fault, I don't care - I'm sorry regardless. I'm sorry. I know he meant a lot to you."

"Yeah," she responds half-heartedly, because in reality, it feels as if she called it off with Josh months ago. She's been over him for a while now.  
There are some people, when their name is mentioned, you get excited and interested and drawn in.

'_Josh' _has not really intrigued her for a long time, if it ever did.

'_Castle', _however, never fails to make her heart stutter and trip over itself, as racing towards a finish line. Desperate to tear through the length of ribbon that means it's over, it's done, and that she has made it to where she needs to be.

* * *

"Ok," Castle continues. "So, don't call Josh. Who do you want to sit with you, then? I swear, Kate, I'm not taking no for an answer. You need someone."

"I want you," she mutters quickly.

His heart stops.

The car slows to the speed of an ember dying.

He can hear the silence as if it were musical notes.

The ringing starts in the tips of his fingers and toes, and migrates up to his brain.

He can't think about anything.

"I mean, to sit with me. Like the other day," Beckett clarifies hurriedly. "The nightmares went away then. Unless you want to go home. I mean…"

"No," he says. He feels heavy. He can still taste the now-stale hope on his tongue. "No, I'll stay with you, Kate. Of course I will. I always do. I always _will_ do."

"Thanks, Castle," she replies, giving him a small smile, one of those ones that make him feel lucky and hollow at the same time. "Thank you."

He just nods. _Yeah, _he thinks, _you don't need to thank me. I would do anything for you, and follow you damn well anywhere._

It occurs to him that perhaps it's not the best idea to agree to hold her, not when she's not with Josh anymore, and she looks so impossibly beautiful.

He can do it, though. He can shut down the quiet little wishes and the unbidden dreams of things (like diamond rings) that don't exist in the reality between them.

Castle can manage to be only her partner, just like he's supposed to be, just like she thinks he wants to be.

_Just her partner._

Yeah. That's him.

Isn't he lucky?

* * *

**I hope it wasn't too terrible.  
Anyway, I'm back now, so expect all my fics to be updated soon-ish.  
Enjoy your morning/evening/moderate-to-late afternoon, depending on your time zone.**

**Feel free to review/comment/vent and to check out my other stories if you haven't already despite my continual and shameless self-promos.**

**x. M**


	12. Chapter 12 - Truth or Dare

**Hi guys,**

**Don't even ask about this chapter. Seriously. **

**I'm sick, so blame the evil genies, not me.**

**In response to those of you who asked why I don't write when I'm sick, this is 2, 013 words of pure evidence. **

**It's unusually fluffy for me and I'm not entirely sure it makes sense, so...**

**PS. It's kind of what a lot of you have been waiting for.**

**x. M**

* * *

**Nothing To Worry About (Promise) ****– ****chapter 12  
****a caskett fanfiction**

Steady breathing. That's the key, right? Steady breathing is supposed to lull you right off to Neverland.

To have nightmares, you've got to have sleep. And right now, she's getting neither.

Beckett huffs unintelligibly, and rolls onto her side, going from staring at the ceiling to staring at the wall.

If she listens really, really hard, she can almost imagine she can hear Castle's breathing on the other side of the door. He's sitting on her couch, writing Nikki Heat notes on his phone.

He'd promised to come in if she had a nightmare, but told her he'd wait outside for now (his justification being that his rugged good looks would distract her too much to allow her rest). It had been him giving her a small escape. A way to have him at hand if needed, but far enough away so as to mean his presence was not a constant.

How she wishes he'd stayed beside her.

How she wishes she'd been able to ask him to.

After another few minutes of trying and failing to tumble down the rabbit hole into slumber and dreams, Beckett gives up.

_Sleep is for the weak, _she tells herself irritably, glaring at the world in general, and getting up.

She'll go chat to Castle. No doubt he's got some magical powers that will knock her right out. Maybe he can read a dull book in a monotonous tone, and bore her until her eyes close.

She refuses to admit it's because she just desperately wants to talk to him.

The wood flooring is cold under her toes, as if Hades is whispering to her through the cracks, urging her to join him in the realm of below.  
Beckett hesitates, her hand on the doorknob.

It occurs to her that her sleeping clothes aren't exactly voluminous, and perhaps it would be better to throw a coat on over her shorts and tank top.

She grabs a thick grey jacket that falls to her mid-thigh and tugs it on, before ducking out into her living room.

Kate can't help smirking a little at the sight of Castle stretched out along her sofa, his headphones plugged in as he watches something on the small screen of his phone, clearly not working on his book. As soon as it flickers into existence, she quashes the thought that she wouldn't mind seeing him there, here, around _her _place, more often.

She approaches him quietly, using that careful, catlike step she most commonly employs for infiltrating dangerous zones (but apparently now also for sneaking up on procrastinating novelists).

Castle starts dramatically when she taps him on the shoulder.

He fumbles his phone onto his lap in his momentary shock, and she presses a hand to her mouth quickly to stem the smirk and stave off a laugh.

Wow, if she's considering giggling, she really needs more sleep.

"Hey," she greets, dropping down on the floor beside him and leaning back against the coffee table.

"Hey," he responds, his eyes lighting up in that particular way that makes her breathing oddly irregular. In the early days, he made an effort to only stare at her like that when he thought she wasn't looking. Now, he doesn't seem to mind. "Aren't you supposed to be sleeping?"

She shrugs. "I can't. I have all these thoughts running through my head. I just can't shut down."

* * *

Castle sits up, and gazes across at her.

She looks smaller and younger and even more beautiful like this, when the harder and more tortured 'Beckett' lines in her face have faded with the sun: a façade burned away to reveal what is undeniably _Kate_. He loves both versions of her, the Beckett and the Kate, but he so rarely gets to see the latter. He has to hold on to these little perfect stills in his mind, her in her pyjamas and an oversized coat, tiredly looking up at him like he's not an alien in her home.

"What have you been doing?" she asks, tilting her head in a fashion so indisputably adorable he clenches and unclenches his fist a little.

"Watching Charlie Chaplain skits," he informs her, grinning, his face lighting up like a little kid. In truth, he's not the biggest fan of slapstick comedy (he's always leaned more towards rapier wit), but he needed something to distract him. It's better to think about other people perpetually falling over objects, than constantly reflecting on his falling head-over-heels.

He is struck by an idea.

"If you can't go back to sleep, do you want to do something stupid?" Castle suggests.

It's less to get her back to sleep and more for him. He needs to do something that will distract his brain from filling with her, her, her, _all the time. _He's been wrestling with it for three years, obviously, but now, it's dark and it's late and Josh is gone and she's _right there _and overall this staying over thing is looking like it'll lead to some impulsive decisions.

He needs to throw up his own brand of walls, the ones he's been using more and more often, lately: the ones that make him seem childish and hapless and innocent (and a little suggestive). The walls that bring everything up to a more superficial level, and let him push all the tidal-waves of emotion back down where they belong.

Beckett raises an eyebrow cautiously. "What kind of stupid, Castle?"

He sighs. "No, I don't mean _stupid _stupid, like go bungee jumping sans the cords, I mean like regular lame stupid. Like playing Monopoly, or truth or dare, or prank calling, that kind of thing. You know, once, when Alexis was ten, we prank called thirty-nine people on New Year's Eve so that we didn't fall asleep before midnight."

Kate rolls her eyes. "Clearly you've always been almost boringly mature and an excellent influence on Alexis." He grins at her again, and her sceptical expression quickly fades. "Okay, we can. But I don't have Monopoly or anything."

Castle provides a vague noise of horror. "All right, then. Truth or dare, Beckett?"

"Castle, I don't really think that -"

"Oh, c'mon, Beckett. It won't hurt. It might help, even. Maybe we can fill your head with silly things and silly facts and then you won't remember all the demons."

She sighs. "Just a few turns then, Castle. Truth."

He thinks for a moment. "How did you meet Esposito? Like, the very first time, not when you both started working as detectives together."

Beckett smiles faintly. "You know, you pose very different questions than the people I played this game with in high school did."

"I figured you'd end me if I asked you that sort of thing," Castle smirks, wiggling his eyebrows.

She shrugs. "Probably. As for Esposito… we were both uniforms, so… Well, the first time we met, we were both looking for evidence, and…" she sighs. "The detectives wanted us to go through this dumpster to find a wallet they needed. I was off getting some paper work and stuff, so I got to the scene a little late. Espo was already there, waist deep in junk from the dumpster. And he kind of looked at me really appraisingly, like he was weighing me up, you know? And I was kind of used to all the guy cops thinking I would be a push over before they even saw me work, just because I was a girl, but Espo didn't say anything. He just watched me climb up into the dumpster and start helping. Then he sort of just nodded at me, and kept working. We didn't really talk for about half an hour, but that's how we met, I guess. It was like I passed some sort of test. Anyway, we always got along really well in a no-nonsense kind of way."

Castle grins. He's glad to know this about her.

* * *

"All right, your turn, Castle. Truth or dare," she challenges.

"I'll be a pansy this round, and go truth as well, seeing as we're just warming up."

"Fine. Truth… What's the drunkest you've ever been?" Beckett asks, very sure this is going to be an interesting story, if his adventures on Page 6 are anything to go by.

It's funny, she notes absently. Castle's been largely absent from the papers for quite some time.

"One time I drank an entire bottle of vodka in New York and woke up in Canada. I'm not sure how much more I drank, due to my not remembering at least twenty-eight hours of the whole affair, but I'm quite certain I was very drunk."

"So _that's _when you killed off all your brain cells," Kate quips, smirking.

He glares, but it's all laughter and no daggers. "Truth or dare."

"Truth."

"You can't go truth twice in a row."

"That's not a rule, Castle."

"It is so."

"It is _not_."

"It _is -_"

"Fine. Fine. Dare, then."

"Hmm." Castle plasters on an overly-exaggerated thinking face. "Can you do a cartwheel?"

"No," she tells him. It's not exactly true.

"I bet you can. I bet you're just lying to me so I don't make you do a cartwheel." He shakes his head in mock despair at her dishonesty. "Okay, though. Beat me at an arm wrestle, then."

* * *

She does beat him.

He is resolute that her victory is not a result of superior strength, but rather occurred because her hand was warm and small and soft and the contact completely shattered his focus.

"Dare, Beckett," he says, as they retract their arms to their respective laps.

"I haven't even asked."

"I pre-empted. Go. Go. Go. Dare."

She rolls her eyes at him. He'll never get tired of her doing that. He's been a goner since she first pulled that expression, that combination of amusement and frustration and a tiny little bit of something else.

"Okay… Um… Okay, what if I give you a hard one?"

"Yes, please."

Beckett shifts in her cross-legged position on the carpet. "This one you can't really do now, but I can't really think of a proper, good dare that you can do in my apartment. Just let me know when you've done it, okay? Sometime. Then we'll call it square."

He shrugs. "Again, I'm pretty sure that's not how this game works, but I'll let you have this one, because you're all sleepy and cute."

She glares at him, but its effect is utterly ruined by the tiny smile quirking her lips. "Okay. For your dare, you have to do something you've wanted to do for years, alright? Like beat Karpowski at poker – I'd suggest not trying that, she'll still flog us every time; or solve a cold case all on your own, or sing karaoke and _not _be atrocious at it…"

"Hey!" he interrupts. "I'm not _that _bad at karaoke."

"You're pretty bad, Castle."

"I'm better than Esposito."

"True."

He refocuses on the dare. "Okay, so something I've wanted to do for years… Like move to Antarctica to live with Alexis and Santa and the penguins?" he jokes.

"Nope, you can't do that one," she tells him firmly.

"That's right, you'd probably miss me too much," he brags, grinning like a child.

She rolls her eyes. "No, just there's no Wi-Fi connection there. You'd die."

"So it has to be something closer to home?"

"Yes," Beckett confirms.

"Good." He smiles softly. "Because I've just had an idea that's better than Santa and penguins and the icebergs. Better than pretty much anything ever."

And before she has a chance to say anything, before he can lose his courage and change his mind, he kisses her.

It's light and soft but it turns his every capillary into a supernova and causes eclipses in the pupils of his eyes.

* * *

If the plan for this game was to make her forget about the demons and the nightmares, then it's working.

Right now, her brain is short-circuiting and she's not thinking about anything.

Because the kiss is perfect.

* * *

**So I probs should have waited until tomorrow and re-read this before posting, but I live on the edge.**

**If I wake up tomorrow and realise it's actually terrible, I promise I'll take it down and take another run up at everything.**

**I've heard about these things called Beta Readers, and even though I'm not 100% sure what those are, I think I need one. Seeing as my only occasional proof-reader is my dyslexic sister.**

**PS. Does anyone know any well-written Knockdown fanfics or any accidentally-ending-up-together S1 fanfics? I'd like to read some. You can recommend your own, I'm all for self-promotion.**

**x.M**


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